


faith is mine

by lacemonster



Series: Lacemonster's Gifts [10]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Bestiality, Forced Orgasm, M/M, Manipulation, Monsters, Out of Character, Past Child Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Revenge Sex, Tentacle Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:13:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25528744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacemonster/pseuds/lacemonster
Summary: Jason is infected by a combination of Hugo Strange's monster serum and Scarecrow's fear toxin. Bruce brings Tim along, insistent that Tim can calm him down. But Tim begins to question Bruce's motives, as well as his history with Jason, and finds himself wondering where Jason's monster truly ends and begins.or: Jason has tentacles and he uses them
Relationships: Jason Todd/Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake/Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake/Jason Todd, Tim Drake/Jason Todd/Bruce Wayne
Series: Lacemonster's Gifts [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1181402
Comments: 12
Kudos: 126





	faith is mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [read_by_Sophie (Sophie)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophie/gifts).



> This fic has rape/noncon, including revenge-rape and mentions of past child sexual abuse.
> 
> Do not read if this bothers you. Any upset comments will be deleted and ignored.
> 
> Thank you so much to Sophie for this prompt and allowing me to post it!

Bruce wanted to discuss plans downtown. After passing through a series of secured doors, Tim entered the bunker. He was instantly greeted by an array of photos, all of them scattered across several monitors. He approached one, getting close to a heavily pixelated face. It was difficult to make out, given the dark shadows of the image, but it almost looked like—

“Jason? That’s the guy you want my help taking down? I thought you two were on good terms,” Tim said. Almost immediately, he wanted to take back his words— _speaking_ terms weren’t exactly _good_ terms. Still, Jason had been appearing in group missions more and more. The two had seemed cordial.

“It’s complicated,” Bruce said. He set something down on the table between them. Tim rose a brow at the folder. “I overheard reports of unusual activity on the police scanners, just after I found this file at Red Hood’s secret hideout.”

“Must not have been that secret,” Tim jabbed, but Bruce was even more sternfaced than usual. 

Bruce nodded at the folder, which Tim took as an invitation. He flipped through the file, his brow furrowing as he dove deeper and deeper into Jason’s notes. Notes about Hugo Strange, the prisoners at Blackgate, Scarecrow’s fear toxin…

“Is there any validity to this?” Tim said. Some of the evidence seemed damning, but the case was overall unfinished.

“History states that Strange isn’t exactly shy when it comes to testing out his monster serums.”

There was a click. Tim looked in the direction of the monitor next to Bruce. It was the same image of Jason, taken seconds later. Tim’s heart started to pick up at the unusual eyes that stared at him from that image. Tim squinted at the camera still—those red irises were not the result of a flash or lighting, they were _Jason’s_ eyes.

“Shit,” Tim breathed. First he felt shock, then anger. He let the folder plop back down on the table. He felt horrible that Jason got mixed up in Strange’s experiment, but also angry that Jason had tried to go after him alone. “Some of those pages were dated from months ago. How long was he working alone on this?” 

“Red Hood, Nightwing, and I were supposed to meet tonight to discuss the Lynch-Foster case. Hood never showed up. Never answered any messages. The last footage of him entering and leaving his hideout was five hours ago. I managed to grab this footage and I think I can trace where he went—but I need help. We both know what Strange’s serum does to people.”

Tim’s mind went various places, most of them involving sharp teeth and claws. He sighed. Poor Jason.

But he couldn’t help but think about Bruce’s story, finding issues with it.

“You already met up with Dick. Why didn’t you bring him on the case? How much time did you waste asking me to meet you here?”

“We did work together. I sent Nightwing to go find Strange and he brought back an antidote. Now, its just a matter of getting the antidote to Red Hood. You’ll be with me while Nightwing goes after Strange.”

There were still holes in Bruce’s plan. Tim didn’t understand why Bruce hadn’t just gone after Jason alone if he and Dick decided to split up anyways—time was of the essence, as Strange’s serum could have unpredictable effects and mutations over time. Tim had been on the other side of the city when he was called in—even if Bruce needed help, there had to have been _someone_ closer.

“You picked _me_ for this job. Me, specifically,” Tim said. 

“You are observant,” Bruce said dryly. Tim brushed it aside.

“No, I just _know_ you. I mean, I might not know you the same way that Alfred or Dick _know_ you, but give me some credit.” Bruce didn’t answer, but his silence spoke for him. In that cessation, Tim suddenly understood everything. He rose an eyebrow at Bruce. “You’re _afraid_ of him, aren’t you?”

“The last time Red Hood lost control, it didn’t end well. He said some things—did some things—that I don’t think he meant. I’m not afraid of him as much as I’m afraid that I bring out the worst in him.” Bruce’s head turned a fraction, moving in Tim’s direction. “He seems to get along with you the best out of all of us. He doesn’t have the same history with you that he has with me or Nightwing—“

“Jason and I have plenty of history. The man almost killed me once.”

“Even so, his relationship with you compared to, say, Robin’s—“

“Damian isn’t exactly a people-person. The reason Jason and I get along is because I’m willing to trust him. You only trust yourself.” Tim shrank back when Bruce looked at him. “Look, I’m just saying, you got this file from his hideout. Which not only tells me that you knew how to break into his place—but that you even knew it _existed_ in the first place.”

“You’re the best one for the job.”

“You sure about that? Because when it comes to sneaking up on someone or talking someone down, I feel like Dick is much more suitable.”

“You’re not wrong, I do place too much trust on myself. But I think you could afford to trust yourself a little more.”

Bruce looked at Tim pointedly. Tim rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yeah I’ll, uh, work on that.”

“Are you coming with or should I call Nightwing back in?” Bruce said, cape swinging behind him as he headed toward the exit. Tim walked fast to catch up.

“Hey, now. I never said I didn't want to help. Of course I want to help. I just wasn’t sure…” _You could afford to trust yourself a little more._ Tim sighed. He hated when Batman got inside of his head. “Whatever, I’ll do it, okay?”

“Then let’s go. We’re wasting time.”

“Sure, _I’m_ wasting time,” Tim muttered under his breath. He quickened his steps to keep up.

Tim heard a crash from inside. Tim recognized the building—it was the old bottle factory, it’d been abandoned for as long as he could remember. It was a hot spot for Gotham teenagers for years, probably since the time Jason was just a boy, too. Kids snuck into the building whenever it was dark, trying to investigate the haunted rumors.

Tim couldn’t imagine what Jason was going through—but whatever mental and physical anguish was tormenting him and turning him into a monster, he had still managed to will himself to somewhere without potential casualties. Tim made a mental note of that, reminding himself of that every time he heard an intimidating sound from inside the building. Inside that building, inside of Hugo Strange’s monster, there was still that Gotham boy. There was still good. There was still _Jason._ As Tim and Bruce walked along the concrete and limestone walls, a loud clang made Tim’s heart leap into his throat. Tim took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. _He’s still Jason. He’s still Jason._

Bruce motioned for Tim to pause. Tim stayed frozen in his tracks, letting Bruce inch the door open. Bruce took a look inside, then motioned Tim to follow. 

After Tim gently shut the door behind them, the hallway went black. Tim’s fingers moved to his temple, ready to switch on his mask’s night vision, when he noticed a flicker of light coming from another room.

Tim held his breath, silently following Bruce’s careful steps. Tim’s eyes wandered around the hall, watching as red light played along the shadows of the hall. Tim’s gaze happened to lock with Bruce’s at the exact moment the man was checking on him. Tim’s eyes met those lenses, which reflected red back at him. Tim made a face to express his apprehension, but Bruce was still stoic as ever, turning his back to Tim and moving down the hall with swift steps.

They reached the opening that led into the other room. Just as before, Tim waited behind to let Bruce scout out the room. Hugging the wall, Bruce entered the red room.

At first, silence.

Then, a loud smack of something heavy hitting the concrete.

Tim immediately jerked into action. He swung around the corner, but couldn’t make sense of the scene before him—because as soon as he looked into the red glow, he was knocked off his feet.

He grunted as he hit the ground, hard. Pain shot down his spine. Just as fast, he was dragged across the ground, the grit of the floor and debris pulling at his cape, unhooking it. Tim panicked as the room rushed past him, his gaze finally falling down his body. His eyes widened at the limb that had wrapped around his leg—it was as glowing red and hot and thick as lava, the edges creeping further and further up his leg, threatening to swallow him.

Instinctively, he reached for his grappling gun. Once his hand was wrapped securely around it, a moment of clarity washed over him. He quickly searched for the nearest anchoring point, aimed, and shot.

The shot landed. But the pull was too strong. Tim cried out at the pain that spread through his shoulder, the gun ripped out of his grip. With nothing to pull him back, he went flying. His slide across the warehouse floor accelerated, the room blurring past him. He was hoisted up into the air, groaning to himself as his head rattled and the grip on his leg tightened.

Tim hung there. It took a moment for him to open his eyes. 

His heart jumped when a pair of white eyes stared back at him. 

After the initial shock, the shape of Jason’s upside-down face appeared to him from out of the shadows. Tim’s eyes moved up, taking in the massive red puddle all around the room, the thick material all leading into Jason’s form, swallowing half his body. 

Tim tried to take in all the detail he could to make sense of what he was seeing. Due to Strange’s monster serum, Jason’s body had become a giant red mass, splitting off into tendrils that swayed and slithered around the room. The monster seemed to have eaten his legs and was working up Jason’s torso—but then Tim realized that the monster was all a part of Jason, the reds of his veins glowing beneath the skin.

“Jason, let him go,” Bruce said, drawing their attention.

Tim flinched when he felt something warm wrap around his middle. He was flipped around, the blood rushing once again. Once the dizziness had passed, Tim looked down at his body, his stomach sinking when he saw that the tendrils were wrapping all around him. He didn’t like the feeling of them—smooth like snakes, radiating enough heat to make him sweat. A creeping horror settled over him, his face grimacing in disgust as the mass began to spread over his body. His legs, his torso, his arms. He tried to wrest his hand back from the binds, but the monster only held on tighter, lacing between his fingers like a lover’s hand.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” Jason said to Bruce, words shot out of his mouth in a tone that was almost unrecognizable.

Tim’s heart was racing. This wasn’t going well. He looked to Bruce, waiting for his guidance, but the man’s face was statuesque as ever, even as the monster had swallowed him up to his neck in its binds. He looked like a man in a flood, just barely able to keep his head above the red waters.

“Jason, we’re trying to help you,” Tim spoke up. There was no escaping the hold, Tim realized, but if Jason could be reasoned with—

“Shut up!” Jason snapped, head turning sharply in Tim’s direction. Tim groaned when the limbs constricted him. There were dozens of binds. Some small, some thick, all with crushing strength. A thick tendril around Tim’s torso nearly gutted the breath out of him. “Don’t you dare take his side! He hurts people! He takes from people! He’ll take from you too—“

Tim narrowed his eyes. Jason didn’t sound like Jason. It wasn’t just the voice, but the hysteria in his words. The fear, the paranoia. But also something else—a tinge of hurt.

“End this now, Jason, and no one will get hurt,” Bruce said. Tim didn’t like the threat in Bruce’s voice. No, no, he was handling this all wrong—

“Wait, he should be talking to us,” Tim tried, but he might as well have screamed into a void. Jason kept ranting on and on.

“He pretends to be a hero, but he’s not! He’s sick and twisted! He’s like all of them—rich, self-important bastards who hurt children and take whatever they want—“

“What do you mean?” Tim said, but Bruce had less patience.

“Jason, stop and listen. Hugo Strange mixed his monster serum with a trace of Scarecrow's fear toxin. He wants you afraid so you’ll act out. You’re projecting your worst fears right now—“

Tim’s mind was reeling. He knew Bruce was right but he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of worry for Jason. Jason kept himself closed up, and even if it was all a false nightmare, Tim wanted insight on his worst fears and pain. If he could understand what hurt Jason so much, maybe he could start to understand how to help him.

Isn’t that why Tim was brought here? To help where Batman couldn’t?

“Shut up!” Jason screamed.

“Bruce!” Tim shouted, but it was too late. A massive red arm rushed forward, slamming Bruce into the warehouse wall. The loud crash echoed through the building. 

Tim’s heart was racing now, eyes wide in shock and horror as Bruce’s head lolled. His barely-audible groan was the only indication that he was still conscious. Were it not for the massive tendril pinning Bruce to the wall, he probably would have fallen over.

Tim’s heart was being pulled from his chest toward Bruce. He wanted to go forward, to check on him and make sure he was okay, and he tried—but it was no use. No sooner than he struggled and wriggled to try and escape Jason’s grip, legs bicycling as he remained suspended in the air, the grip tightened around him, digging into his arms. Tim hissed in pain.

Jason turned to Tim. It was enough to make Tim slow. Underneath all the anger, there was a thoughtfulness to Jason’s eyes that made Tim pause.

“You thought you could replace me. You thought you could just cast me aside and use someone else.”

Jason wasn’t talking to Tim. Tim was just a pawn in a game between kings. Tim didn’t like the threat lying in the lulls of Jason’s voice. He didn’t like the way Jason stared past him, as if he didn’t really see him at all. Tim wasn’t even a thought in Jason’s head—it all went back to Bruce, it was all Bruce.

“Jason, we want to help you,” Tim began, and for a moment, Jason went quiet.

“Jason,” Bruce said weakly. Jason’s head turned sharply in his direction. Tim opened his mouth to yell, but stopped himself, forcing himself to swallow his words. Jason had wrapped the tendril around Bruce’s neck, winding it up higher and higher, finally sealing over his mouth and effectively shutting them both up. _No_ , Tim decided as he watched that thick coil around Bruce’s neck, it was better to not get emotional. His words needed to be careful.

Tim was sweating and it wasn’t just from the heat of the monster. He didn’t like seeing Batman _vulnerable_. The danger of the situation was beginning to dawn on him. He needed to get out, or talk Jason down, or _something_. Not just for his own sake, but for Bruce’s. But the look in Jason’s gaze when their eyes met made Tim stop. One wrong phrase or move could pull the trigger.

“If he’s so important to you, then I have no choice,” Jason said. There was something dark and angry in the undertones of his voice. “I’ll hurt him. I’ll hurt him the same way you hurt me. Maybe then you’ll understand the horrors of what you’ve done.”

Tim was trying to wrap his head around those words—but then, the entire room moved. Tim’s breath swelled inside of his throat when arms rushed him. Tim pulled back, but there was nowhere to go, his body suspended in midair as the arms latched around his middle. Tim’s gaze flickered between every limb on his body—there were too many of them, thick and thin alike, attached to his body like squirming leeches.

Tim’s breath quickened. He needed to get out. But there was nothing to use as leverage as he wriggled in the air like a fly caught by its wings. He could do nothing more than flail, his body burning and sweating at the effort.

Tim bristled as the tendrils moved around his body. They slithered across his form, following the contours of his body. Tim couldn’t keep track of how many there were—it felt like they were everywhere at once, crawling over every inch of his body.

Something hot touched against Tim’s lower back. Tim flinched at the touch. A slowly dawning horror settled on him—the monster had gotten past the hem of his vest, snaking its way underneath his clothing. He tried to squirm away, but he was held firmly in place, unable to do much except arch his back away from the touch—but was too late. Once inside, the arm only dug deeper beneath his clothes, blindly groping his bare skin.

Tim’s face burned as the tendril inched higher up his body, the tip occasionally brushing across his nipples. The hot touch ignited familiar feelings inside of Tim that he would rather not feel. But the more the tendril swiped across his chest, flicking his nipples, the more his breath shortened and his heart raced. He squirmed harder now, desperately trying to escape the humiliating and terrifying situation. Instead, the limbs around his arms and legs squeezed painfully tight, making him groan in pain.

“Don’t fight it, Robin. You’ll grow to like it,” Jason said. 

Tim’s eyes widened. Jason’s words finally clicked.

Tim’s looked in Bruce’s direction. Tim’s eyes were big and wide and pleading for the truth. But he never did meet Bruce’s gaze. The monster lifted Jason in front of Tim’s view, blocking Batman out.

“You do want the uniform, don’t you?” Jason asked. His words were a hollow echo of something from his past— _no_ , Tim insisted, _not the past, it’s not real, it’s just the Scarecrow toxin_. There was no enjoyment in Jason’s eyes, just something distant, touched with a hint of resentment.

Tim’s breath hitched when something hot ran across his hips.

“No,” Tim whispered, horror settling on him as a tendril slipped past his waistband and down his leg.

Now, it all felt real. Jason was going to do this. Jason was going to hurt him in ways that Tim always feared but never thought was possible. Tim’s breath quickened, his heart racing. He tried to yank away from his restraints, his arms straining from the effort, his body sore—but nothing.

“No, no, no,” Tim murmured, the pleas rushing out of his mouth. He tried to jerk his hips away but there was nothing stopping it. He gasped when a tendril wrapped around his cock. He bit down hard on his lip. He hated this. He hated his body being touched and used. Hated that he was being molested in front of Bruce. Most of all, he hated how his body responded to the monster’s touch—hot and soft, hugging around his cock. His voice was strangled with repressed pleasure, trying to call out for Jason. “Please, stop this—“

“Shut up!” Jason said, lurching forward. The monster rushed forward with him.

One of the hanging tendrils suddenly shoved its way down Tim’s mouth. Tim’s eyes opened wide. He gagged at the unexpected intrusion, his stomach twisting. It was in his mouth. It was in his mouth. It had no taste, but it pulsed inside of him, something warm and alive and wriggling and the thought of it disgusted Tim. Sickened him that this living monster was inside of his body. Aside from the tremendous repulsion, Tim felt horrified and humiliated. He felt highly aware of Bruce’s presence in the room, likely watching him being defiled.

It didn’t stop there. Tim’s eyes burned with tears when he felt a thick limb slither down the back of his pants, the waistband of his pants and underwear stretching to its breaking point, the seams starting to pop. 

Tim whimpered around the tendril in his mouth as the massive arm hooked underneath him, sliding further between his legs. The moving tendril curved up underneath his balls and rubbed up against his crease, stimulating his most sensitive areas. Tim burned with humiliation. As much as he wanted to hate it, there was something pleasurable in the friction. It kept rubbing against his sensitive, bare skin—hot and thick and smooth. He could feel himself growing hard in the monster’s grip around his cock.

He didn’t want it. He didn’t want to be aroused by the actions of this creature. He started to fight again, struggling to break free of its grip. In seconds, both of his arms were yanked behind his back, forcefully arching his back. Tim moaned at the pain.

More tendrils started to wrap around him. They were everywhere now. Tim heard a nasty snag, his tears springing from his eyes as his clothes started to rip, exposing himself to everyone in the room. Panic started to settle into Tim. His heart was throbbing, his nostrils flaring as he tried to catch his breath around the thick limb pulsing inside of his mouth. He couldn’t budge, effectively frozen in place as the monster forcefully stretched him into position. Smaller tendrils wove up his body, rubbing up against both of his nipples repeatedly.

Despite his will, Tim’s eyes rolled back. The monster was massaging his cock, those hot tendrils repeatedly rubbing and flicking his sensitive nipples, that thick limb rubbing up against his crease and balls. It felt good. He hated it, was so humiliated, but it felt good. He even started to like the monster inside of his mouth, enjoying the ache in the corners of his mouth and the feeling of being filled. He couldn’t resist a moan as he was worked in all of his erogenous areas, the tip of his cock beginning to drip with precum.

Tim inhaled, nearly choking on the limb inside his mouth, when his body was suddenly tilted forward. The arm between his legs kept him propped up, acting as a bench for his body to rest against. Tim’s face burned when tendrils poked through the open seams of his clothing, further ripping apart his pants. He strained to look behind him, to see what the tentacles around him were doing. He flinched when the arms wrapped around his thighs spread his legs further apart, his inner thighs aching from the strain.

His fear was swallowing him. Everything was a blur, his body trembling like a cornered rabbit. He didn’t like how vulnerable he was. How exposed he was. He felt those tendrils smoothing over his exposed ass, nudging his cheeks apart. The fear was so great that his breaths deepened, the tears flowing freely now. His head hung down, bangs curtaining his face.

Jason was below him, looking back up at him. Tim blinked in surprise when Jason reached up to touch his cheek.

“Heroes don’t cry,” Jason said, his voice gently scolding.

The single ounce of affection, no matter how disingenuous, made Tim ache. Tim pleaded Jason with his eyes, unable to vocalize anything more than a whimper with his stuffed mouth. Jason only backed away, never tearing his gaze away, and the look that had soothed Tim quickly turned into something terrifying. This was happening and there was nothing Tim could do to stop it. This was happening and Jason was just going to _watch_. 

Worse, Jason was the one making it happen.

All because of what Bruce did to him.

_But that’s just the fear toxin—_

Tim tensed up when he felt something hot and smooth run across his crease. Tim couldn’t slow his breath, his body shaking as smaller tendrils prodded at his entrance. Oh God, he hated the feeling of them—wriggling and poking at him.

_No, no, no._

He sucked in air through his nose, his muffled protests growing louder. He tried to pull away—but once those small tendrils began to enter him, it was like they were magnetized to him. No matter how he tried to twist or clench, they insistently prodded at his entrance, forcing their way in.

He yelled when the first one entered. He could feel it moving inside of him, side to side, brushing up against his walls. His eyes squeezed shut, a fresh wave of shame washing over him. His body rose and fell with every quickened breath. Oh God, it was inside of him, _no, Jason, stop, no_. It was inching its way inside of him, moving deeper and deeper. A horrific thought entered Tim—there was nothing to stop it from going even further, it could tear him from the inside out if it wanted to. The thought made Tim choke a sob.

Tim didn’t even have time to recover. The monster insistently pushed its way inside of him. One tendril became two. Two became three. They all roamed over his ass, trying to crawl their way inside of his body. Desperate and fighting to enter him. Tim didn’t know what to do. His thoughts were racing. It was all so hopeless, so disgusting, that he couldn’t even will himself to fight. All he could do was hang there, his thighs forced wide open while a monster fucked its way into his body.

And all the while, the monster still pumped at his cock. Still rubbed at his nipples. He was disgusted and ashamed and terrified and yet he was still so hard. The squeeze around his cock was a respite from the reality he was in. The pleasure was all he could focus on to keep himself from completely breaking down, even as he panted and huffed and his heart raced and tears spilled down his face. He was going to lose his mind, but if he just focused on his arousal, just focused on the stimulations against his sensitive cock and nipples, maybe he could get through this. Maybe he could survive.

Don’t think about Bruce. Don’t think about Jason. Just survive.

Tim groaned when another tendril forced its way inside of him. He didn’t know how many there were, but it was enough to make him stretched and full. It was uncomfortable, at times painful. It was like each tendril was competing against the others, trying to force its way inside of him. They kept prying him open, stretching him. They rubbed up inside of him, each one thrusting at its own pace. Tim couldn’t concentrate. All the feelings and sensations blurred together. All he could make out was the friction of them rubbing up against his walls, the feeling of them thrusting inside of him.

There was no rhythm to them. Just constant moving and penetration. But he got the sense that they were moving faster, faster. He groaned at the feeling of them all moving inside of him, his entrance aching as he was uncomfortably stretched. They thrust in and out of him, scissored him open, over and over. Tim could feel his panic starting to grow. Their desperate, quickening movements all felt like a build up to _something_ , something that made his stomach twist with dread.

Tears leaked from the corner of his eyes. Fear and adrenaline rushed through him. He couldn’t think, terror running through every inch of his body. He groaned around the tendril inside of his mouth repeatedly, occasionally coughing and gagging on his own pool of saliva, his face a mess of his own sweat and tears. The tendrils pumped in and out of him, fast, impossibly fast, rubbing and rubbing and fucking until—

Tim cried out, nearly choking on the limb stuffed inside of his mouth, when hot, thick liquid suddenly gushed inside of him.

_What the fuck, what the fuck—_

Something was inside of Tim. He didn’t know what. Couldn’t twist his head to see. He had no choice but to stay in place as the tendrils secreted copious amounts of foreign liquids inside of his hole. He could feel them throbbing inside of him as they pumped and pumped. Fresh tears leaked down Tim’s eyes. He gagged, nausea burning at his throat. He didn’t know what it was, didn’t know what was happening, but he could feel it inside of him, sticky and wet and gross.

Suddenly, the tendrils slid right out of him. The secretion dripped down his crease, his thighs. Tim’s mind was still racing with thoughts. What did Jason do to him? What the fuck was going on?

Tim’s thoughts were removed when he felt the thick arm between his legs slide backwards. Without its support, Tim was hung by his arms and legs, the gravity of it all making their hold that much more painful.

But nothing compared to the horror of the realization that fell upon Tim. He could feel that thick arm sliding backwards, the tip pressing up against his hole.

Immediately, Tim panicked, his chest rising and falling with every quickened breath.

_No_ , it wouldn’t work. That arm was big enough to carry all of his weight. _No, it’ll kill me, it’ll tear me apart, Jason, stop—_

It was prodding against his wet entrance, trying to muscle its way in.

Tim was sobbing now. Thick tears down his flushed face. He felt weak and useless and disgusting and there was nothing he could do, not a single fucking thing, and he hated Jason and Bruce for dragging him into this but most of all he hated himself for not being strong enough to escape—

_Heroes don’t cry._

He screamed when it pushed inside of him. Even with the monster inside of his mouth, his shouting filled the room. The initial penetration was not so bad with the fluid, but the deeper the tendril pushed inside of him, the bigger the stretch. It was thick and long, burying deep inside of him.

It didn’t feel right. Every inch of it felt wrong, so wrong. It was hot and thick and _deep_ —so deep—

Through the blur of his tears, Tim’s eyes travelled down.

Tim stared down in mindless shock. The monster was inside of him. He knew that, but now he could _see_ it.

He stared, wideyed and stunned, at the throbbing bump under the surface of his stomach. 

He felt faint. His vision blurred, his blood ran hot. Oh God, it was so deep inside of him. He watched as the tendril repeatedly bumped up against his walls, moving inside of his stomach, the tip visible beneath his skin. So deep.

The thought of it made him sick and hazy. He didn’t even move as it started to fuck him, using its own fluid to ease its way in and out of him. He only started to return to when his body was repositioned, the tendril now curving up inside of him, bumping up against his prostate, the sparks running down his spine, finally bringing back _feeling_ into his body.

All at once, heat and pleasure bloomed inside of Tim. Tim grunted when the tendril slid into him hard, his body trembling in response. The feeling in his groin returned, the massaging around his cock springing his erection back to life. The tendrils around his nipples started to secrete, the wet slide of them against his chest feeling pleasurable.

He couldn’t think. His eyes rolled back. His whimpers started transforming into long, uncontrollable moans. Once again, he started slipping into that state of ecstasy, focusing on nothing but the sensations of his body. The pain was gone. The humiliation was gone. The war between Jason and Bruce was gone. There was nothing but overwhelming, white hot pleasure.

He started to crave the monster. Started to crave the way it pounded his ass, forcing its way into his body over and over. Stretching him open and fucking him. Started to crave the ache in his spread thighs and arms as the monster held him in place, having its way with him.

He could only move his hips, circling them between the tendrils that squeezed at his cock and filled his ass. He moaned and moaned, losing himself in the fucking machinations of the monster, which took what it wanted, stimulating him from all ends.

Nothing mattered. All that mattered was his body being used. And as the heat inside of him grew, so did the monster’s movements. He was yelling and moaning, the monster fucking him hard, fast. The sounds of the slick inside of him growing as the arm pistoned in and out of him. The tendrils’ secretion growing sticky as they continually rubbed against his puffy, swollen nipples.

His thighs quivered. His cock pulsed. He was going to come. He could feel it. He could feel it in the way his toes curled, the way the heat rushed to every inch of his body. His arousal grew and grew, tremors running through his body. It was wrong but he didn’t care. He welcomed it. He would come. He’d come while being fucked and used and he’d love it, he wanted it, he needed it, he needed release—

He gave a long cry, his mouth muffled. His entire body seized up, the first spurt of his come spilling around the tendril that massaged his cock. Jason did not let up. Tim’s voice rose as the monster continously fucked him through his orgasm, pounding his prostate as he climaxed. Tim’s eyes squeezed shut. It was too much, too much. His cock was trembling, body quivering. The tendril continued to pump his cock, milking every last bit of his seed.

It suddenly became overwhelming. His cheeks flamed with heat. He choked a sob.

Suddenly the tendril pulled out of his mouth. Tim gasped for breath. He was still overwhelmed—but he started to feel tinges of sensations he had numbed out. The feeling of the sweat in his hair, the stickiness of his body, the ache in his mouth and limbs.

And with that, also came the sinking shame.

Now that he could speak, he knew he needed to say something. But also, the shame of everything that happened suddenly welled up inside of him. He felt the monster massaging at his cock and wanted desperately to close his legs. Tears burned in his eyes, a whimper formed in his throat.

No, no, how could he have let this happen?

The monster suddenly started to lower him. The aches in his limbs lessened somewhat once he was on solid ground—but it did little to ease Tim’s pain and humiliation, because the monster was still fucking him. 

Tim writhed on the ground as the monster continued to thrust into his ass. The arms were glued to his body, still slithering over him and touching him and he wanted to beat them off but they kept working at his body, kept fucking him and using him, and he felt too weak and powerless to fight them off, unable to do more than whine and whimper and cry as they abused his oversensitive body again and again.

Distantly, Tim noticed the shadow that fell over his body. Recognized the red and black shapes on the ground before him as Jason.

“Stop,” Tim managed to whisper, voice hoarse after his mouth and throat had been used for so long. But Jason ignored him, the tendrils continuing to pump in and out of Tim’s ass. Tim’s head fell forward. His hands clenched and unclenched, wanting nothing more than to pull at his own hair or scratch at his own skin. He fet frustrated and overwhelmed and it was all too much, too much. Fresh tears burst forward, his voice rising with desperation. “Stop! Jason, please—“

“Did he ever stop?” Jason said, voice sharp and accusatory. “Do you think he stopped any of the thousands of times I begged him?”

Tim didn’t know what Jason was talking about. He could barely even focus, his mind narrowed in on the brutal punishment of his ass, his voice crying out every time that limb pounded into him. He was twisting and writhing on the ground, too weak to fight back but needing to get away from that monster fucking into his used and sensitive body. He managed to look up at Jason from the ground, but his view of him was blurry through his tears. His mouth trembled as he struggled to find words.

“You’re wrong. Stop, Jason, _please—_ “

“Wrong?” Jason said, barking with laughter.

The entire room moved. Tim focused through the haze long enough to watch Bruce fly forward, yanked across the room by Jason. Tim shrank back when Bruce was stopped in front of him. He clenched his mouth shut, trying to hold back his own voice. A fresh wave of humiliation washed over him, his face burning with shame. Bruce had seen everything… he had known that, of course, but to actually _face_ the man as he was being defiled—

Yet, Tim couldn’t look away. The tendrils inside of Tim paused long enough to let him focus on the man before him. Jason’s arms forcefully held Tim’s face in place, the grip almost painful as Tim was forced to crane his neck. Tim looked up at Bruce with wide eyes, wanting nothing more than to be swallowed into the ground, but then he noticed something that made him pause.

The tendrils around Bruce started to slither from his middle outward, the curtain of red parting to reveal the center of Bruce’s body.

Tim’s racing heart suddenly skipped when he realized what Jason was showing him.

Bruce was erect.

At first, Tim didn’t believe what he was seeing. It was the shadows playing tricks on his eyes. But no, the longer Tim stared, the more he realized it was real.

It was all real.

_He pretends to be a hero, but he’s not._

Tim couldn’t tear away his gaze. He felt sweat on his temple. Bruce was hard. He had gotten off on this. Had gotten off on his sidekick being used.

Jason stepped in between them, just so he could look Bruce in the eye.

“Go on. Explain yourself,” Jason said, the tendrils moving away from Bruce’s face.

Despite everything, despite being entirely exposed, Bruce was as stern as ever.

Somehow, that only made Tim angrier.

“I have nothing to say to you,” Bruce said.

“Stop lying!” Jason screamed.

The mass moved forward, grabbing Bruce, wrapping around his body. Tim’s eyes travelled, noticing how the binds around him had loosened. Tim was shaking—not just from exhaustion, but renewed anger. Anger at Bruce. And yet his mind kept travelling back to the mission. Tim looked down at his own wrist, noticing that it was hanging. Jason’s grip on him had loosened, the monster focusing all its attention on Bruce. Then Tim’s eyes moved down the tattered remains of his clothing—including his utility belt that was still slung around his waist.

Bruce groaned in pain. Tim’s attention was jerked back to the scene before him. Jason’s grip was tight, the monster glowing brighter as it constricted Bruce.

“Now he knows! Everyone will know! Soon, everyone will see you for the monster you are! You’re the monster, Bruce, not me!”

Bruce couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. He choked on his words. Jason didn’t let up. He kept screaming.

“Once I show everyone who you are, they’ll believe me! They’ll know the truth—“

“I know, Jason,” Tim said.

Jason spun around, looking at Tim—just as Tim sunk the antidote into his neck.

Jason was momentarily frozen in place, stunned by the attack. But the antidote had a quick working sedative and he eventually fell to the ground. Tim, barely holding himself up, carried only by the limbs that had wrapped around him, collapsed as well.

Tim winced as the tendrils left him. His skin was left with marks from where he had been restricted. The light in the room faded to black as the mass started to slither back into Jason, eventually disappearing, until there was nothing but Jason on the floor.

Tim was tired. Exhausted. Hurt. Still, he managed to pull himself along the ground to where Jason was. In the dim light, Tim could just barely make out the shape of Jason’s face. 

He seemed at peace.

Tim stayed there for awhile. He hadn’t realized Bruce had moved until he felt his own cape being draped over his shoulders. Tim didn’t look back.

“Was it true?” Tim asked.

He didn’t want to believe it was true. But he couldn’t get that sight of Bruce out of his mind. 

It wasn’t about Bruce’s body—he had no control of how his body responded, no more than Tim did.

But it was the secrets that worried Tim.

It was the not knowing that shook him.

“It was just the fear,” Bruce said.

Tim looked down at Jason, who had been stopped by his own hands. Just as they had planned when they decided which of them would carry the antidote.

It had to be Tim who carried it, Bruce had insisted.

_The reason Jason and I get along is because I’m willing to trust him_. 

“I don’t believe you,” Tim whispered.


End file.
